Angelus Custodis
by CookieEmpire
Summary: Sometimes, to relate to a teenager, you have to be a teenager. This is the problem that Albus Dumbledore currently faces. Harry needs help and supervision from someone his own age. How to solve this predicament? Call in a teenager of course... RLxOFC
1. In Which There Are Arrivals

**A/N: **Hey all. Trying my hand at a plot bunny that was eating holes in my brain. Hope you like.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing that you recognize… and stuff.

**Chapter One – In Which There Are Arrivals**

Tetra stood leaning against a pillar at Kings Cross Station watching the multitudes of people as they rushed by, caught up in the self-proclaimed importance of their own lives. One of them, a middle-aged woman, hurrying to a train, passed very closely to Tetra, a cellphone pressed tightly to her ear. She was bickering with someone on the other end over something that sounded, and probably was, inconsequential.

Tetra's eyes tracked the woman's progress across the station until she disappeared behind a pillar identical to the one the observant teenager was leaning against. Tetra was getting no few glances from the people she was studying, and it was no wonder… Goths and punks were admittedly more common in London than many other places, and as a slight mix of both, it might have been relatively easy for her to blend in with the other 'misguided youth', were it not for a certain air of saucy contentiousness that she exuded.

A group of over-confident boys encountered this attitude the hard way as they crossed her path. With sagging pants, muscle shirts, and do-rags (any newer and they'd still have been tagged and packaged), the roving teenagers were the epitome of weekend gangsters. She smirked at their idiocy; a barely perceptual twitch of lips. They were nothing but wanna-be's. She fought the strong, childish urge to roll her eyes behind her sunglasses. Anyone who became a gangster because it was 'cool' was destined to be laughed at. She watched with cold eyes as they caught sight of her and headed toward her. Their self-proclaimed leader, probably the one with the richest daddy, had the audacity to press himself into her personal space. Fighting to keep the hostility from her face she calmly arched an eyebrow in his general direction. He took it as an invitation.

"You know," he said, moving the scantest inch closer, "I saw you scamming on me." He moved closer. "It's all good girl."

Tetra was fighting down the amused chuckle that kept trying to bubble up. She wasn't sure if her amusement was due to the fact that he had thought she was checking him out, or if it was the sound of him trying to add a 'gangsta' inflection into his voice over his heavy British accent, something he'd undoubtedly picked up from an American rap cd. Either way, she couldn't stop her lips from quirking up in one corner. The British homie, who was still prattling on, took her small smile as further encouragement and eased his arm up over her head and around her shoulders, then proceeded to press the left side of his body against her.

Wrinkling her nose in disgust as his warm breath puffed over her face, she decided she'd had enough. Planting her hand in the center of his chest, she pushed firmly enough that he had to take several steps back. Looking over the tops of her glasses she gave him a look that clearly said 'back off'.

"Right then," he said, dropping the Hip Hop routine abruptly for his native British accent. "No need to go and be a bloody bitch about it, is there?" He huffed and stormed away, his silent friends following. She chose to ignore the dirty glares they all threw her way, and went back to inspecting the crowd.

She stood, her back resting comfortably against the brick structure. Her hands, all but her thumbs, were thrust into the pockets of a pair of baggy black pants, slung low on her hips, and she had a standard-issue, drab green army duffle bag slung over one shoulder. A grey, low-cut, midriff baring tank top, clung close to her curves, the words "**HELL'S KITCHEN, NY**" emblazoned in black across her breasts in bold black lettering that was beginning to crack and fade with age. Her eyes were unreadable, as they were hidden behind dark sunglasses. Her long hair, which was straight and brown today, with streaks of electric purple shot through it, was pulled up in a messy, half-hearted bun. She had changed it this morning out of boredom, by way of her wand, in an airport terminal bathroom. The bright streaks had been added to match her eyes; a vivid shade of lilac that made most muggles she met ask if she wore contacts. Her hair, when she left it alone, was a riot of wild, honey-brown curls, which was why she didn't 'leave it alone' that often.

And so, that morning, in an empty bathroom, she'd stood in front of the spotless, industrial sized mirror that sat atop a row of gleaming sinks, and applied numerous hair-specific cosmetic spells to pass the idle time before her flight. She hated flying… Unless of course it was on a broom. She never even got near a plane unless it was really bloody important. And of course Albus had sworn that it was of dire vitality. So here she was after a seven hour flight, watching for the one-and-only Harry Potter. Albus had asked only that she keep an eye on Potter until they reached Hogwarts, but had not been able to give her any further instructions by owl, other than to please meet him in his office after the Welcoming Feast. She understood the need for they cryptic message… the British Ministry monitored everything these days, and probably weren't above intercepting and reading private owls, especially those traveling internationally. Fudge was a paranoid bastard…

Dumbledore's ambiguous messages weren't the only things effected by Fudge's deep-seated neurosis… Her mode of transportation was also effected. She would have much preferred apparating to trusting her life to two men trained in hurtling a metal cylinder with wings across the Atlantic ocean. But because the Ministry now recorded all instances of apparation, especially those from outside the country, she had been forced to take the tin can route. Her reasoning had been both simple and practical. There were people in England, in all of Europe in fact, that she didn't want knowing she was there. Consequently, the only logical way to go had been muggle transport.

She sighed. She knew Potter's safety was important, but the Order had done well enough in that area without her assistance up till now. She didn't know what had changed, but it had better be pretty bloody drastic to have drug her over an ocean.

Sweeping the station with her eyes once more, she straightened slightly as she caught sight of a tall, lanky body, and a head of unruly black hair. It was him…

**A/N: **So that's that I guess. First chapter…


	2. In Which There Are Introductions

**Chapter Two – In Which There Are Introductions**

Lucius Malfoy curled his lip in disgust. He mentally cursed the fool who had decided to put up anti-apparation wards around Platform 9 ¾. It was because of _those _particular wards that he was forced to wade through the filthy mass of muggles that swarmed through Kings Cross Station any time he escorted his son to the Hogwarts Express.

His sneer deepened as he caught sight of the black-haired brat that had made his life so difficult for the last few years. He began to alter his course slightly to intercept the boy, hoping to either embarrass or intimidate him, when he caught sight of yet another teenager. This one was not nearly so offensive to his eyes; quite the opposite in fact. His lips relaxed into a more appreciative curve as his eyes trailed over the girl's body. Her breasts, high and full, pushed alluringly against the cloth of the tight shirt that restrained them; a shirt with the words "**HELL'S KITCHEN, NY**" printed on it. A slim waist tapered to curvy hips. A small tattoo could be seen over the waistband of her baggy pants, nestled in the hollow beside her pelvic bone. After only one glance he knew that no muggle could see this tattoo, or at least they couldn't see it as it was meant to be seen. The reason? Simple; this was a magical tattoo. In constant motion, the green snake that the tattoo depicted wound itself into three overlapping circles, which were stacked in the shape of an inverted triangle. The bottom circle contained a black pentagram, the five points of the star almost touching the snake that constantly coiled around it. The top right circle contained a skull with two wands crossed under it, and the top left circle held the rune Jera.

Lucius' interest peaked when it occurred to him just what this tattoo meant… it was the Symbol of the Forsaken, a mark with a meaning dark enough to match the brand he bore on his own left forearm. He spared a moment to wonder how someone her age had managed to earn that particular mark; she appeared to be no older than his own son, who was just entering his sixth year at Hogwarts. The skills needed to master the Symbol took time to learn; years of training were often required.

He found his interest in this mysterious young girl growing… It seemed that she had an intellect to match her body, an attribute he usually found disappointing in his women. Beautiful women with strong minds tended to pose a problem when it came to his womanizing habits. However, this girl's apparent mental capacity only served to further enflame his curiosity. But then anyone who carried the Symbol was bound to have a dark disposition as twisted as his own. Without even pausing to consider that this was a stereotype of gross proportions, he sped his pace, almost imperceptibly, in order to cross paths with her at the barrier, where it seemed they were both headed.

They reached the brick structure at almost the same moment, a scant heartbeat behind the Potter brat. Suddenly a voice yelled crudely, "Oy! Harry!" The shout came from the general direction of a blurring shock of red that could only be the hair of a Weasley. It was, in fact, Ronald Weasley, who had spotted his friend through the crowd and run to meet him.

Hearing the familiar tone of his best friend, Harry stopped just short of the barrier. If Tetra's reflexes had been even the tiniest bit slower, she might have walked right into him. As it was, she had stopped moving almost exactly as Potter did. Unfortunately for her, however, Lucius did not react quite so quickly. Not expecting the sudden halt, he walked right into Tetra, her hiss of surprise accented by the look of intense annoyance on her face. She was about to whip around and confront the person who'd run into her when a hand descended on her shoulder and a silky voice drawled in her ear, "My apologies, miss. It appears that young Mr. Potter's lack of a proper upbringing has resulted in a poor set of manners… amongst other things."

She noted that he had not removed his body from contact with her back, as would have been polite. His warm breath grazed the tip of one ear. While her first instinct was to be angry and bitchy, as she had been with the wanna-be-gangsta; another part of her relished the feel of a strong male chest pressed so intimately to her body. His soft voice threatened to send shivers down her spine, though she managed to stay completely stationary. Without turning, she addressed him. "And yet you feel the need to apologize for him?"

She watched the oblivious young man they were discussing as he conversed excitedly with the red-head; no doubt catching up after a long summer.

The man behind her spoke once more. "Any slight, no matter how small, against a woman of such beauty should be amended, no matter the perpitrator."

She almost laughed. This guy was really laying it on thick. He was either desperate or over-confident, and she was betting on the latter. He had a smooth, cultured voice; product of practice and upbringing. She slowly moved her body imperceptibly away from his and turned to face him. Out of deep-seated habit she let her eyes sweep his body so that she could catalogue his appearance and file away details for future reference. Due to years of training she had hated but grudgingly appreciated, she was exceedingly proficient at profiling others. His clothing, distinctly of wizarding origin, though it could pass for an eccentric muggle suit, was made of a finely woven material that she recognized to be of expensive make. He wore a silver clasp at his throat and a small silver snake-head adorned the top of the cane he carried. Through these two observations she deduced several things. The first was that he was wealthy, and the family-crested heirloom ring he wore indicated old wealth from a pureblood family with extensively traceable bloodlines. The cane not only reinforced the thought that he was from a long-standing wizarding family (purebloods tended to stick more to the fashions of the 1800s than other magic users), but she would bet everything she owned that his wand was concealed in it as well. Cold grey eyes held haughty intelligence and it was obvious that this was a man accustomed to getting his way. Leather gloves that looked soft as butter spoke of shameless self-indulgence and an appreciation for comfort.

All this information was taken in and stored with a single flick of Tetra's eyes, and it took her no more than a few seconds to form these calculated assumptions. As her eyes met his, she inhaled lightly, her small nostrils flaring delicately. She caught a faint whiff of leather mixed with expensive cologne. Underneath this, there was the unmistakable odor, however indistinct, of sex mingling with the coppery tang of blood. _Yes_, she thought, confirming one of her inferences, _he does like to indulge himself, and violently, it appears._

She watched guardedly as his eyes flicked over her form. Any other girl might have taken it as a lascivious compliment. She, however, knew exactly what it was. He was processing her as she had him. She let him; and did her best not to look aggressive. His own posture and body language indicated that he was relaxed and interested. So far nothing seemed to have put him on the defensive. She felt his eyes, as much as saw them, pause on her Symbol. His eyes darkened, but not in alarm or suspicion, but in interest and desire. She wondered briefly if he was as aware that she had been studying him. Then, as she spotted Potter and his red-headed friend cross onto the platform via the barrier, she decided it didn't matter anyway. That was her cue to leave.

"You have my gratitude for the reparation," she said politely. Her mouth formed into a smirk, but she knew her eyes remained neutral; somewhere between cold and impassive. "Now if you'll excuse me, I must be boarding the train."

"Of course my dear," he replied smoothly. If the fact that she might be a student shocked or confused him, he showed no sign of it. "And if you should ever like to call upon me again, remember the name Lucius Malfoy."

Well, she thought, with a name like that, who wouldn't be arrogant? Knowing he was expecting a name in return, she merely said, "I'll keep that in mind," and backed through the barrier separating her from the crowd of bustling Hogwarts students and their families.

_Now, _she thought, _to find that Potter brat. _Grudgingly she stepped into the chaotic gathering and went in search of the boy…

**A/N: **So that's that.

And much thanks to my only reviewer so far:

You're the best Cari. And of course you've read this one already. Haven't you read them all. : )  



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